Whatcha Gonna Do?

Last night, I didn't sleep.  Like at all.  Which is so stupid, because I was beyond exhausted.  I tried to sleep.  Several times.  But something (someone?) wouldn't let me.  Every time I would start to fall asleep, I would be startled awake, by what I'm not quite sure.  But my adrenaline was pumping and my heart was racing- so much so that I was afraid there was something medically wrong with me.

I hadn't had a bad dream.  I hadn't heard or seen anything to warrant such a reaction, but it literally felt like my heart was going to beat right out of my chest.  I got so freaked out, I woke my husband up.  In case I, you know, died or something.  As I sat in bed, trying to figure out what was wrong with me, I was reminded of a few other times I've woken up in panic mode.

Most recently, it's happened when I heard someone talking to me while I was sleeping.  Once a woman, and once what sounded like a little boy.  Both times, I woke up with that same adrenaline rush, my heart pounding.  But this time there had been no voice, nothing that had happened to cause this.  Nothing I could consciously remember, at least.

Around 2 am, I got up to go to the bathroom for the millionth time.  I checked on the boys, who were fast asleep on the couch in the living room, and then went to the bathroom.  On my way back to my room, I heard something upstairs.  A voice. I walked slowly to the bottom of the stairs to listen more closely.

It was music.  "Bad Boys," to be exact.  (Yes, the Cops theme song.)  I returned to my bedroom and got my husband, who was just starting to fall asleep again, back up.

"There's music upstairs," I told him as I climbed back into bed.

"What?" he asked, almost as if he didn't believe me.

"Music, upstairs.  Bad boys, bad boys, whatcha gonna do?"  I elaborated, getting back into bed, making it clear that he was going to have to be the one to solve this particular mystery.  He sleepily made his way upstairs, returning a few minutes later.  "What was it?"  I asked.

"Austin's iPhone," he answered, satisfied.  Mystery solved.  Austin's iPhone??

As I laid there, wide awake, listening to my husband's breathing turn into quiet snores, my mind was racing.  I had turned Austin's iPhone off earlier in the evening after informing him that he would not be using it for a few days.  (Long story.)  I'd let him put it upstairs on the charger before bed, but it was still turned off.  The kids were fast asleep downstairs, I saw them with my own two eyes.  And there was no music playing the several other times I'd gotten up to go to the bathroom that night.  It wasn't even playing on my way TO the bathroom, just on my way back.

I suppose I shouldn't be surprised.  I mean, it's definitely not the craziest thing to ever happen in our house.  But I couldn't help but feel a little unsettled as I stared into the darkness, the song's lyrics playing over and over in my head:

"Whatcha gonna do?  Whatcha gonna do when they come for you?"